#dark!logan

It was nearly 1am when you were woken out of your sleep. Not by any sound, by a presence. A dark and heavy sense of self accompanied by a smell of iron, smoke, and sweat that you had come to associate with danger, but also protection.

“Logan?” You called, not too loudly because you knew he’d heard you the moment you sat up in your bed. “Is that you?”

His heavy footsteps stalked through the narrow hallway and you forced down the lump in your throat as his silhouette came to a stop in front of your slightly open door. With the light from your salt lamp falling onto him, you could see the blood dried on his knuckles, the stogie in his mouth, the scuff marks and splatters of sweat and more blood on his boots. “Just me, princess.”

“What did you do?” You asked with wide eyes and trembling hands as his large and imposing figure walked over to the side of your bed.

Slowly, his hand came up to touch your face and you flinched only slightly due to the blood, but it didn’t deter him. Logan cupped your cheek and smoothed his thumb over the apple of it, tinting your skin a pale crimson. “I made things right,” He said with a small smile as if he had done you a favor. “For you.”

A small, defeated sigh leaves your lips and you look at him sadly. “You can’t keep doing things like this,” You say, gently taking his hand off your face and looking over his knuckles. They were healed, the blood definitely wasn’t his, and you chewed your bottom lip anxiously at the thought of Eric bloodied and dropped in some ditch. “Did you-is he, you know…” You trail off, unsure of how to ask such a loaded question.

Fortunately, Logan can still read you like the front page. “He’s alive, missin’ a few teeth,” He added with a small shrug as he cupped your concerned face in his large, warm palms before continuing, “But he’ll learn never to touch you like that again.”

“I didn’t wan-” You begin, but he cuts you off with a sudden and very hungry kiss. “Mm, Lo-”

His tongue slips easily past your lips, quieting your weak protests as he moves to lay on top of you, his bloodied boots abandoned on the floor, his clothes coming off along with yours until his dirty hands are caressing your bare body. The blood tints your skin a light crimson as his hands revisit the sensitive spots Logan likes to tease, squeezing your thighs and kneading your hips and stimulating your breasts while you squirm for him. “Let me, princess,” He begs, kissing your neck and groaning as your thighs spread beneath him. “Let me make you feel good, just tonight.” You can feel the erection between his thighs pressed against your lower belly and you moan as he slowly grinds against your pussy.

“Just tonight.” You sigh, tipping your head back as the head of his cock slides and teases your wet entrance. “Logan, wait, do you have a con-”

The questions shoots out of your head as his cock pushes in and you arch in ecstasy as he fills you, stretches you, fits in you like no one else can and, damn it, you’ve tried.

“Just like I remember.” He groans, taking one of your hands and placing it on his bare chest as he begins fucking you. His length slides in and out, stretching your pussy with each thrust until you’re writhing from the intense pleasure. “That’s my sweet girl. You like it, huh, princess?” Logan’s tongue licks greedily at yours, biting and growling while you wonder how these same hands that can knock the teeth out of someone’s mouth are now so carefully moving over your body.

“Lo-Logan, you can’t hurt people just b-bec-uh!” You struggle to scold him while his hips roll steadily into yours in that way that makes his swollen tip press into your cervix each time. “You’re always f-fight-ing, one day you-you’re going to-oh, fuck!” You give up, crying out and scratching at his back as he pulls an orgasm out of you with far too much ease, groaning in approval as you squeeze around him.

As he helps you ride it out, Logan is watching you writhe helplessly, his red stained hands holding your waist and one of your thighs to the mattress. “Wasn’t just because,” He pants, staring into your big, watery eyes as he fucks you slow and deep, now holding your jaw in one hand so you keep your eyes on him, blood staining your flushed, teary cheeks. “You’re mine, princess, I gotta keep you safe.” He tells you, kissing your trembling lips and swallowing your weak cry as you near a second release. “You’re still mine. Always. Mine.”

His thrusts increase in speed and you arch beneath him, gasping as one large arm wraps around your waist to keep your trembling body pressed to his. Your release takes over and your arms wrap securely around his broad shoulders as you cry his name and clench with a wet sound around his cock. “Oh, Logan!” You sob, gasping through your moans as he keeps going, chasing his own release through yours. “Oh, fuck!”

“Shit,” Logan grunts, panting into the crook of your neck as his load spurts in thick ropes inside your squelching walls. “Fuck, princess,” He shudders as he sinks into you slow, deep to hear his mess stuffed in you. “Let me stay. Please.” He begs, breathing heavily as he peppers your neck and shoulder with desperate kisses. “Please?”

Say no, he just nearly killed someone, you think to yourself as you caress his back, feeling the subtle spasms in his large muscles just beneath your palms. But he’s here, with you, coddling you and comforting you the best way he knows how, reclaiming your body the way you’ve missed.

“Just tonight,” You whisper, your voice hoarse from crying his name, and you caress his cheek as he pulls back to look down at you. “And you need to shower, you’re all filthy.”

“Didn’t hear any complaints till now.” Logan teases, kissing your nose and making you roll your eyes. “You comin’ with me?” He asks and you find yourself nodding because while you can’t be with him, Logan sure makes your life easier, even safer.

Logan walks through the city. People part as he storms through the path. Hearing the sound of his heavy boots as they thud against the concrete. 

If his large frame wasn’t enough to warn off people, his scowl was. He didn’t even know what city he was in. Xavier sends him off to eliminate out of control mutants. Given the urgency, he is often sent without a goodbye, let alone a debrief. 

He knew he was somewhere foreign. All the signs were in a different language with the english translation printed small underneath. 

One of them read ‘bathhouse’ in bright red neon sign. He looks at the dirt caked under his nails. The final battle with the latest mutant took place in the forest. 

He could feel small leaves in his hair, and dried mud clinging to his body. 

A nice, hot, relaxing bath may elevate some of the tension he always carried with him, so he walks up the steps into the large stone building. 

A lady in a robe greets him. The place is dark, only lit by a few strategically placed lamps. The front counter is placed in the entryway to the baths, and is sectioned by a large maroon colored wall that offers the men bathing privacy. 

“How can I help you?” the woman asks.

“I’d like a bath”, he responds. His eyes go to view the bath that beckons him. 

“Communal or private?”.

Logan looks around at the men in towels, lounging by the large pool. An elderly man takes off his towel to reveal nothing underneath, and steps into the steaming water. 

“Private”, Logan answers, “please”.

She gives him a sly smile, asking him to follow her. 

He is brought along the pool where men swam nude, and women who wore thick robes served them drinks, and cigars. 

At the back of the communal bathing area there was a long stretch of red doors that were numbered in large golden letters. He follows her to door seven

The woman knocks on the door once before turning back to logan. 

“Just through this door when you are ready”. With a sly smile she looks him up and down before returning to her hosting station. 

“Ah-yeah, thanks”, he comments. 

Muttering under his breath, he twists the door knob and takes a step inside, wanting nothing more than to wash away his adventure. 

His hand clinches the door knob, his claws begging to come out upon hearing someone on the other side. 

Had someone been following him? Another mutant, buddies with the one he had killed?

He lunges through the door, ready to face anyone willing. It startles him when he sees a young girl. 

Your hair was blown out to give it volume, and styled in an effortlessly curled way. Your dress was short and black. The halter neck tied together behind your long neck, and was cut down to the middle of your chest. The thin material only reached your upper thigh. Your lipstick was a dark red, matching your pointed shoes. You looked ready for a club, not a bath. 

You push yourself back into a chest of draws, surprised at his entrance. 

“shit”, Logan turns from you, training his eyes to the ground. It felt wrong to look at you. “Sorry, i was told to come in here”. 

“You were told correctly”, you state, “I am ready for you”. 

Your voice was low and seductive, making Logan hard under his jeans.

“Ready for me?” Logan questions. He feels his brows furrow, the sweat that he had accumulated started to run down his forehead. 

“This is a bathhouse”,you state, “You got a private room. You get bathed in private rooms”. 

You seemed as confused as he was. 

He looks at you stunned. His cock ached in his jeans to think of you bathing him. But you were young. Young, pretty, and naive. What were you doing here, giving baths to dirty old men like him. He couldn’t have it. Couldn’t be a part of it. 

His other side begged him to have a bath, and enjoy your touch, but he didn’t want to do anything that he would regret. The animal side of him was hard to contain. He was sure you would pull the wrong string, and the restraint he had built would come undone. 

He couldn’t even bring himself to bid you goodbye. All his will power went to turning back to the door. 

“Wait” you call out. He freezes immediately, and looks over his shoulder at you. 

“Is there something wrong with me?” you ask. His heart sunk at your question. He didn’t mean to offend you. 

“Am I not desirable enough for you?”, you continue. 

“God, no” he states, shutting the door firmly behind him as he turns. He didn’t want anyone passing to see you through the door. “No, you’re anything but undesirable”.

You blush but remain in your seductive composure. Your hand waves him forward, and his feet shuffle to your command. 

“Well then stay. If they see you walk out, i’ll get in trouble. Men start walking out of my bathhouse, and they might turf me”, you state. 

“Look, baby, I am just looking for a bath,” you eye the water so he continues to explain, “a bath alone. Without the help of a young woman, no matter how they look”.

“You don’t seem the nervous kind”, you provoke. 

“I ain’t” he defends. 

“How about this, I won’t look”. You spin around and face the wall, covering your eyes with your hand. “You can take a bath without my help, and I won’t get fired. Win, win”. 

He thinks about it. With you facing away, and not touching him, what harm could be done? He would be doing you a favor. 

“You sure you can restrain yourself?” he flirts. 

Your giggle echoes off the wall to his ear. 

“I am sure”.

Logan strips, leaving his clothes on the tiled floor, and entering the marble tub centered in the room. The water is steaming, and works to unknot his mussels. 

He moans as he sinks into the water. 

“Feel good?”, you ask. 

His cock twitches at your words. He struggles to keep his voice even as he answers. 

“Yeah”. 

“I am y/n”, you comment, bringing your hand down to face the red wall. 

“Is that your real name?”, he asks. He shouldn’t care what your real name was, but he did. 

“Yeah”, you respond. He listens for your heart beat as you answer. It never falters so it was the truth, or a lie that had become the truth. Either way it was good enough for him. 

“Logan”, he gives. 

“In town for business or pleasure, Logan?”, you ask. 

Your butt was three inches from the bottom of your dress. It curved around the material. Logan wanted to jump up from the water, and bite into it. 

“Business” he answered absentmindedly. He forces himself to look away and up to the ceiling. 

Your heartbeat was even. You weren’t scared of him. It comforted him to know. 

“What do you do?”. The question irked him. 

“Nothing good”, he spat. 

You let out a breathy laugh as if he had told a bad joke.

“Men who do ‘nothing good’ aren’t afraid of young women in bathhouses”, you jest. 

“Well I suppose I do bad things for a good cause”, he admits. 

Although it never felt like a good cause. Only some of the mutants he killed deserved it. Most of them were only confused and scared. They were too dangerous to be allowed a second chance at reasoning. Like a wild dog, they had to be put down. 

It would have made Logan feel better if he didn’t enjoy the fight. 

“What bad things for a good cause?”. 

Logan slides further into the water, trying to shield himself from your questioning. 

‘Is this a bathhouse or a police station?” he bit. His voice was hard, and carried a commanding tone that made your heart skip. 

He wanted to apologize, but you beat him to it. 

“I am sorry. I am not used to talking to the clients. I overstepped”,  you confess. 

 “Have you worked here long?”. 

He wanted to turn the attention back on you, but he chose the wrong path. The last thing he wanted to hear was you admitting to washing men.

The image of you bathing other old men angered him. His claws dug through the bones in his hand, itching to come to the surface. 

“A year”. It seemed like you were content in your workplace, but Logan fights to keep his claws under his skin. He splashed his hands under the water, worried that you would turn and see him in his mutated state. 

You shuffle slightly, angling yourself so you were always turned to him. You move off the wall, back over to the door. Logan watches you, his body shifting to hide himself if you decide to look. His member was hard under the clear water. He didn’t want you to think he was some sort of pervert. 

“Hey”, he calls, watching you move to pick up his clothes. Your hand shielded your eyes to him in the tub, “What are you doing?”. 

You separate his room key, wallet from his jean pocket and place them next to his shoes before picking up his clothes, and turning your back once more. Moving to the far wall where a washer and dryer were stored under a sink. 

“It’s part of the service. I wash your clothes for you”, you state. 

“Just leave them” he commands, “they are fine”.

You ignore him, throwing the clothes in the machine, and starting the cycle. 

“You’re paying for it”. 

You crouch in your high heels as you dispense the detergent into the washing machine on the floor before rising back up, but you don’t turn. Talking to him through the shared space rather than at him. 

“Do you mind if I sit at the vanity?”, you ask him. 

“No. Sit where you are comfortable”.

Your eyes train at the walls of the room as you slide along to the vanity set in the corner. You stop just before you get to the mirror, and kick off your heels so you could drag the seat with your foot over to you. You sat facing the wall like a child on time-out. 

He notices without your shoes, you were quite small. A small, pretty thing in a house of old men who wouldn’t need to be twice your size to overpower you. It didn’t sit right with logan. 

“So, how did you end up here?” he asks. 

“What this, a bath house or a police station”, you joke. 

He stifles a laugh. He didn’t mind a bit of cheek. 

“Fair enough’’, he relents, “Just tell me if any of these old guys ever caused you any trouble?”. 

Just as he claws retreat, they shoot back again. If your answer was yes, he was going to find out who, and where after his bath. 

But you shake your head no. 

“We have a button that calls for help. As soon as I get a bad feeling I press the button and they are thrown out”. 

You were intuitive like him. He wondered if it was a survival technique you were forced to pick up. He wanted to know why, but knew it was none of his business. 

Instead, he picks up a cloth and runs the cooling water over his skin. He was right, mud stuck to his chest hairs, along with dried blood. 

“You, uh, press that button a lot?” he pries. 

“Enough times to know when I should”. Your voice had lost its seductive tone as it hardened. 

“Maybe you should quit. Do something else”, he suggests. 

He would love for you to do something else. Something outside of harm's way. You were a grown woman who could decide what she wanted. He had no right to tell you what to do, but he wanted you to listen to him.

“Only one of us hates their job”. 

“You like this?”, his voice came out too angry. Your heart skipped another beat as he raised his voice at you. 

“You like touching dirty old men? Help them get off?”, he bites his tongue to the point of blood to stop himself talking to you this way.  

“No one gets off. I bathe them and send them on their way. Most of them are just lonely”.

“Lonely”, Logan scoffs, pushing the water away from him. But you were right. Logan was lonely. A dirty, old, lonely man wanting to taste your young flesh. 

How many other dirty, old, lonely men wanted to do the same? How many times would you be able to get to the button to press for help before it was too late? 

He wanted to protect you. To have his place in protecting you. Something about you drew him in. The animal called for him to throw you over his shoulder, and take you from his place in all his stark naked glory. But you were no one to him. He had only met you by mistake five minutes ago. 

Your heart rate was too fast. He had succeeded in scaring you. If his clothes weren’t washing, he was sure you would have kicked him out. 

He sighs, bringing his hands to the side of the tub. 

“Darl, I am sorry. I just hate to think of a pretty young thing like you here without anyone looking out for you”.

“I look out for me, Logan”, you declare. 

He nods his head, almost in disbelief. He rests the back of his head against the hard marble, causing the water to swish as he moves. 

“There’s shampoo on the caddy. You should wash your hair. I noticed that some of it was stuck together”, you comment. 

He was thrown across the forest floor just last night. He must have taken a harder hit than he realized. 

“I can do it if you want?”, you offer. 

“No. No. You stay right there” he demands. His hands itched to pull you in the bathtub with him. He wanted you to stay as far away as possible. 

As he squirts the small bottle of shampoo into his hands, the washing machine rings out a tune to signal it was done. 

“I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer” you declare. 

He watches as you move again over to the machine, and kneel to transfer the clothes into the dryer.  

Your bare feet make a nice sound against the tiles. Logan notices that your little toes were painted a dark red, and your fingers were perfectly shaped and painted the same color. 

He supposed a woman of your profession, maintenance was important. He pretended for a second that wasn’t the case. That instead, you were his little woman. 

He had come home after a long day of lumberjacking like he used to do, and you were fussing over him. The thought remained only for a second before he shook it off. 

Everyone he loved died. A little thing like you didn’t stand a chance in his life. 

“I hope you like the scent of vanilla”, you remark. 

He grunts in response, dipping under the water to wash the shampoo out of his hair. It felt lighter as a rose from the water. It was due for a good wash. 

He begins with a conditioner while he watches you lean against the counter of the sink instead of returning to your seat. His fingers dug into his scalp, pushing the liquid into his hair. 

“Do you have a girlfriend? Is that why you don’t want me to look?”, you ask. 

“No girlfriend. No wife. No dog”, he washes the soap from his hands, “I honestly didn’t know what I was signing up for”.

“Are you glad you signed up for it?”, your seductive tone returned from its disappearance. 

“The view has been nice”, he returns. 

“If you like my back, you should my front”. 

His hands curled into fists. If anything had been in his hands, it would have been snapped in two. 

“If i see your front, you might not see the light of day again”. 

His eyes shut in rhythm with your heart skipping. 

“Fuck. no. I didn’t mean” he began to justify but had nowhere to go. He had meant what he said, the way he said it. 

“All this talk of protection from dirty, old men. Did you mean you?”.

Your voice didn’t sound scared, but your heart beat faster than it had all night. 

Logan rises from the tub with conditioner still weighing down his hair. 

“Look, how long until my clothes are ready?”.

“Ten minutes”, you answer.  

He couldn’t wait ten minutes. He had to leave now.

“Just give them to me”, he demands. 

“There's still ten minutes”, you complain. 

“Give them to me, now!” his voice rose at you once more. 

You jump as he yelled at you, quickly moving to pull the wet clothes from the machine and throw them backwards towards him. 

They don’t go far enough from you and Logan is forced to get too close for his liking to dress himself. 

He pulls his wet shirt on himself, the long sleeves stick to his skin as he yanks it on. 

“Keep facing forward. Don’t turn around”, he orders. 

“But” you begin. He can see you slow movement to turn around so he gently shoves you in the right direction. 

“Listen to me. Face the wall”. His voice was angry again, commanding you to stay still. 

The jeans didn’t want to go on wet. With his harsh, and quick movements it felt like he was in a fight. He does eventually get them on, only bothering to do up his button and not his zip. 

He doesn’t bother putting on his socks. Keeping them in his hand while he picks up his wallet, shoes, and keys from the floor. 

The jiggling of the keys gives way to his plan of escape. 

“You still have fifteen minutes”, you state not moving from your position on the wall.

He wondered why you cared that he was leaving early. Did you not want him to get away from you? Or where you wondered about his reaction if he found out he was cut short?

“It doesn’t matter”, he barks as he makes a quick bee line to the door. 

He pauses once he reaches it. The water pools at his feet as he turns to look at you once more. 

“I am sorry” he comments. 

He races back down towards the door he came in through. Everybody stares at his dripping state. Some men laugh quietly among themselves. He could still hear your elevated heart beat in room seven. 

“Hey! Hey!” a voice calls behind him. 

In his agitated state he was ready to rip their head off. He turns to do it to see the lady who greeted him. 

“You still pay full price”, she demands. 

“Huh? Yeah”. He steamrolled over her to the counter, pulling out his wallet. 

His focus turns to the hallway expecting you to appear, but from what he could see your door never opened. 

He taps his bank card without looking at the price. Xavier kept him comfortable for his work. 

He leaves without approval, bumping back into the crowd of people as he makes his way back on the path. 

Soaking wet, and barefoot, he makes his way back to his small apartment. 

His claws dig underneath his skin, wanting to come out despite there being no threat. He fails to make it to the bed, laying on the carpet floor instead. 

Your name repeats in his mind. 

—---------------------------

He tries to forget you for the next three days. He was supposed to be back by now, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. 

Xavier called him every hour to be sent straight to voicemail. 

Logan walked the city, often finding himself walking along the front of the bathhouse. He never goes in, but listens for your voice, and breathes deep to smell your faint scent.

You didn’t talk much to your clients. A few flirty comments when they first arrived, but then silence as you completed your work. 

You didn’t talk to them like you talked to him, and that had to mean something. 

The worst part was not knowing exactly what you were doing. He loved to hear the beeping of the machine as you pressed the buttons, because at least that meant you weren’t touching them. 

Even in his best efforts he couldn’t manage to walk away. He knows he should. There were plenty of other mutants that needed to be put down. 

He should continue with his life, and you yours. 

He couldn’t keep you. He could barely keep the kids at the mansion alive, and they all had powers to protect themselves. 

He would be throwing you in the line of fire. A fire that he might not be able to protect you from. 

You would grow old too. Unless he could figure out a way to keep you young. Could Xavier know of a way? He was sure that he could protect you from everything but time. He would need some help. A connection to someone who could slow down time in adjacent to him. 

He grunts as he drives his claw into his right thigh. He lets out a painful laugh as he pounds his fist into the brink building he was hiding behind. 

The brick crumbled under his fist. A reminder of what he could do to you without even intending it. He would only need to make a mistake once. 

He was worried about protecting you from others, when he should have been worried about protecting you from him. 

He was no good for you, even if you would be very good for him. He was destined to live out his life alone. A punishment for his ability. 

Maybe a goodbye would help him. If he could leave you with a nice impression instead of an old, dirty man, maybe he could leave. 

He crosses the sea of people to the steps of the building. He could hear you as you said goodbye to your client, and drained the water from the tub. 

He waits by the bottom of the step until the man came down and passed him before entering. 

Was this a place where you made appointments? How long would he have to wait to see you again? He wondered. 

It was a different lady at the counter which alleviated some of Logan's anxiety. 

She greets him in the same manner as the other lady. 

“I was after a private bath with y/n. Would she be available?”.

The woman looks at her computer before smiling up at him. 

“You’re in luck. She just finished up. Follow me”. 

Logan wished he dressed nicer. Put on some cologne, brushed his hair. 

Your scent became stronger the closer he got, it seemed to ease his nerves. 

The women knocks three times on the door, and Logan's hand goes to reach for the knob prematurely. 

“Just a second”, you call out. 

“She won’t be long”, the woman addresses Logan, who drops his hand away. 

With a nod and a smile the woman returns to her desk, and Logan waits by the door for you. He ran over what he was going to say, but when you swung the door open he had forgotten his opening line. 

“I never expected to see you again” you state. 

“Me either”, he responds.

To his surprise you step back from the door to allow him in. He quickly takes the invite, shutting the door behind him. 

You were dressed in another black dress. This one had thick straps and an appropriate neckline but an open back that scooped down as far as possible. 

“I wanted to apologize”, he expresses.

You tested the running water with your hand as you listened to him. 

“You are far from my worst customer”, you revel. 

You don’t look at him as you add bubbles to the bath. 

“Still, what I said” Logan pauses under your stare before continuing, “What i did was uncalled for”. 

You smile a pretty smile at him almost as if you were laughing at him. 

“Well, you’re forgiven. Now did you want me to face the wall again?”, you ask. 

Logan twists on his spot. “I ain’t looking for a bath. Just to apologize”. 

“Have one” you insist. 

You walk over to him, taking his belt into your hands. He catches your wrist to stop you from taking it off. 

“You got me in trouble last time”, you tell him, “You’re not supposed to walk out scared and wet. If you walk out now in less than a minute they’ll wonder what I did”.

“Well I owe you two apologies”, he states.

“If you're looking to apologize, get in the tub”.

He feels you pull out of his hold, and he lets you make distance so you could spin around. 

His self-restraint wasn’t that strong so he rids himself of his clothes and hides under the bubbles in the tub. 

Hearing the water splash, you turn to him. 

With the weight of his adamantium bones the water rises to the top and you quickly go to turn off the tap. 

You kick off your shoes, leaving them at the faucet and walk back up to the top of the tub. 

“I can’t see anything”, you console as you kneel down beside him. 

He reaches his hand out to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“You’re a world of hurt for me, bub”.

“Your world only lasts fifty minutes”, you tease. 

You move out of his touch to go behind him. Your small fingers squeeze his big shoulders. He relaxes under your touch as you work your way along his shoulders to his neck and back. 

“Feels good, bub” he praises. 

“Feels good?” you repeat.

Your hands trail down his chest, reaching for the top of the water. His hands catch yours before they could immerse under. 

“Don’t” he warns. 

“Okay. I am sorry” you apologize, tugging your hands free and back up to his neck, “I’ll stay above water”.

He found it hard to relax again. He felt vulnerable, naked under your touch. It would be better if you too were naked. It would make it less embarrassing when you realized he was hard under the water.

“I’ll put your clothes in the wash” you say. 

He reaches out behind him for you to stop you moving away.

“No. Keep going”, he protests. 

You don’t go to move again. Your fingers continue to massage him until he relaxes once more. 

Only then do you stop to reach for the shampoo bottle in front of him. You squirt it into your hands, and then massage it into his head. 

He falls back against the tub, loving the feeling of your hands twisting in his hair. 

You do it for longer than necessary seeing that he liked it.

Your fingers roll in a circle on the side of his head, causing him to groan at the feeling. 

His claws push up, moving the bones of his hands. It was painful every time but Logan had gotten used to the feeling. He flexes his fingers in an attempt to dissuade them from coming through. 

You must have noticed the grimace on his face as he forces the metal back into his hand because you stop massaging and reach for the cup to rinse his hair. 

You’re careful not to get it into his eyes, smoothing back the hair as the water and soap runs off. He could see why men pay for this. 

He takes your hand not holding the cup and forces it against his cheek as he lays back. With his eyes closed he breathes softly against your skin. 

“Are you okay?” you ask him. 

“I am worried I’ll never be okay again”, he admits. 

“You’re tough. I can see it” you flip your hand so your palm is pressed against his cheek, “You’ll be okay”. 

You drop the cup next to him, and reach for the conditioner. He is grateful that you allow him to rest against your hand as you massage it into his head. 

You try your best to get his whole head but his position made it difficult. 

"You know you don’t have a scar over you”, you mention. 

“Soft living’”, he jokes, although it was only funny to him. 

As you leave the conditioner to soak, you pick up a clean rag and begin to scrub his skin. 

Disappointment fills him when he feels you trying to release your hand from under him. He could have kept it stuck there but chooses to raise his head. 

You lift up his arm and scrub under his armpit, and along his side. Carefully not to scrub any skin under the water. 

You move onto the next and he laughs at you. 

“The full treatment here”. 

You smile back as you continue to work. 

“$300 should get you the full treatment”, you utter. 

“$300? Christ, that’s a year's worth of cigars”, he remarks. 

“You smoke?” you ask him. He feels your hands push him forward so he leans for you to wash his back. 

“Like a chimney” he honestly admits, “You get $300 an hour?”. 

You were done with his back so he leans against the tub again. 

“No” you state as you reach for the cup that had sunken under the water. You stop yourself before your hand goes under. “Would you mind passing me the cup?”. 

“Oh yeah”, he remarks, reaching down into the water and bringing up your cup. 

You take it from him and begin to rinse his hair. 

“No, I make $150 an hour. The house makes half”.

“Still pretty good. Maybe I am in the wrong line of business”, Logan quips playfully. 

“Maybe you are” you jest back, “You never did tell me what you did”.

“I told you. Bad things”, he pulls up out of your hold. He didn’t want to tell you what he did. What he was. 

“Are you always this tense?” you ask him. 

“Yes” was the short, curt reply. 

With a final squeeze of your fingers against his neck, you move down to the bottom of the bath. Slowly you reach for his soapy feet that were propped up against the end of the tub. When he doesn’t object, you take it as permission and begin to massage his feet.

His head makes a heavy thud as it falls back into the marble. It had been a long time since he had ever felt this good.

When he hears you begin to speak, he lifts his head back up to have eye contact with you.

“What made you come back?”, you question. 

He feels you apply more pressure to his foot as you ask. Something about the question made you nervous. 

“You”, he answers honestly, “i didn’t want you to think I was a prick”. 

Your lips curve into a smile at him, and Logan feels his heart twist. 

“I didn’t think you were a prick”, you say. 

“You’d be the first”, he huffs.  

Relief floods him. He wanted to ask if you thought he was a dirty, old man but he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. 

No more conversation interrupts the peace. Logan allows himself to relax into the water while you dig your fingers into his flesh. He lets out soft groans to let you know that he appreciated what you were doing. 

All too soon, your strong fingers stop pushing into the soft flesh of his foot. His head shoots back up automatically out of his relaxed composure. 

His wet hair sticks to his forehead, and the steam from the bath had begun to sweat his skin. He looked like a wild animal, while you looked put together as always. 

With your make-up perfectly placed and not a hair out of place. He would love to see you disheveled. A whining mess underneath him as he teased another orgasim from you. But tonight would be the last night he would ever see you. 

You would go on, find a nice man to marry and have children to. Die of old age when your time comes. 

Logan would go his separate way. Keep living well past what he desired. With no purpose, and dying friends. 

You rise from your knees, and he watches you as you retrieve a towel from a warming rack and bring it back over. 

With your body half turned to him, you hold out his towel. 

“Get out and I’ll dry your hair”, you offer. 

He takes the towel, and you walk over to your vanity as he rises from the water and wraps the towel around his waist. 

He follows you, taking a seat when you tell him to. 

You look at him in the mirror as you plug your hairdryer in. Once you began to maneuver the device around his head, your eyes followed but his remained staring at you in the mirror. 

Sitting directly in front of you, he could see the actual size difference. You were half of him if that. 

You said you looked out for you, but how would that be possible? You weren’t anything special. Were you a mutant too? Or just a naive little girl who had never faced any real danger. 

Maybe it would be best if he were to take you. Danger lurks everywhere. He could take you home. Make sure nothing bad ever happened to you. 

The bones in his knuckles separated and the metal began to break skin but as the sound of the hairdryer cut, his claws retracted back in. 

He couldn’t take you. He was old enough to be your great grandfather. What had happened to him that he was thinking these thoughts? Has loneliness finally caught up with him after a century of being alive?

Your fingers snake up through his hair again, itching his scalp and the thoughts of taking you returned. 

“There, all dry” you state. 

The sound of a timer goes off, startling Logan who was expecting something wrong from the sudden noise. 

“That’s our five minute warning” you tell him. 

The forty-five minutes went too quickly. He would never see you again, or at least he had promised himself he would never see you again. 

You gather his clothes for him and throw them over a blind. 

“You can get dressed behind that”.

He nods his head. Moving quickly to cover himself again. 

These thoughts were relentless telling him not to go. She couldn’t stop you from staying, no one could. His conscience told him. But he needed to leave your presence before he did something he couldn’t just apologize for. 

Maybe some distance would help. He had been away from home too long. He just needed to return home and live comfortably for a while. Focus on the kids at school. 

He makes sure his jeans were properly done up, and that his shirt and jacket were the right way before returning from behind the blind. 

You were by the vanity chair, back on your knees with his shoes next to you. 

You smile at him and pat the chair. Telling him without words to come to you. 

He follows your request sitting down in front of you. You came up to his thigh in height. 

“I can do it” he states. 

“Full service” you reply. 

He feels the wood of the chair cracking under his hands so he moves it to the top of his thigh in a tight ball. 

You’re gentle as you place the socks on his feet, followed by his shoes. You even do up the laces for him despite the end timer going off two minutes prior. 

You rise from the floor, taking his hand to lead him to the door. 

“Will I see you again?” you ask him. 

“No” he promises but taking another look at you, he wonders if he can follow through. 

“Well, goodbye then, Logan”, you gently say. 

“Goodbye, y/n” he returns. 

He tears himself away from your door, walking the same quick pace back to the front counter where he throws his card on the desk and pushes his way back into the busy street. 

His instinct told him to go back, he had to fight against it the whole way home. 

—--------------------

He thought distance was the answer, but his heart ached to go get you. No amount of alcohol or pills satisfied it. 

Everyone knew something was wrong. He got sick of everyone asking him what happened on his trip. If he was okay. If he wanted to talk. 

He had gotten more aggressive than usual. Things that he could normally brush off, now end with someone pinned against the wall by their throat. 

Xavier tried his best to get into Logan's head but his resolve would not soften. No one would understand how he felt. No one would justify the measures he was willing to go. 

He booked a flight only a month later. Every day was spent thinking of you until he broke. He was a hero. Saved people daily. What was one life if it meant he was able to save countless others.

He books a room, the closest and cheapest to the bathhouse. He could smell you from here now that he had locked onto your scent. 

The old bed creaked under his weight as he struggled with himself. With his head in his hands, he grumbled to himself. 

He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be thinking these things to himself. It wasn’t too late to turn around. Nothing had been done that couldn’t be undone. 

But then he heard it. Your sweet voice welcoming a man into your door. His feet took off before he could stop them. It was only a short distance of a block to the bathhouse. 

The street was busy no matter the time of day, but much like when he first walked down it people parted to let him through. 

When he grips the door knob it shatters underneath his hand. So he is more gentle when he pushes the door open. 

A new woman greets him cautiously but he ignores her going straight to your room. The woman yells at him as he walks. One brave man tried to stop him and ended up thrown half a meter into the pool. 

No one bothers him after that. He could hear the water move as you washed the man. 

Knowing he will break the door knob, he instead pushes the door open, snapping the lock. 

You gasp hearing the impact, and look at him startled. The position was compromising. You were sitting back on your heels scrubbing the man's back wearing the same halter neck slut dress that you wore when he first met you. 

“Logan?” you question, “What are you doing?”. 

The man rises from the tub, unashamed by his naked state. 

“Get out”, Logan growls. 

“Listen buddy, I paid the full-” the man stops his sentence when the claws emerge from logans hands. 

You shrink back to the floor, using your hand to keep you upright. 

“Get out”, he repeats. 

This time the man scrambles to the door, running past Logan without his clothes. 

You try to follow suit but Logan's long claws block you from your exit. 

You stare at the shiny metal, your face reflecting back at you. 

“You’re coming with me”, Logan states, putting away his claws so he could take you by the arm. 

“Let go of me” you beg, trying to pull your arm from his grip. 

He leads you to the chaos of the bathhouse. Word had spread that a mutant had entered the building and now people ran for cover. 

“Let go. No!”, you scream.

 You pull your arm too harshly in his hold, he could hear the muscles in your arm straining under the pressure. He loosens his grip so not to hurt you, but brings you closer to his chest.  

“Stop it, kid” he demands, “You’re going to hurt yourself”. 

“Stop, logan. Please, just let me go”. Your heart was fast, and your eyes dripped with tears. 

He reaches up to touch your face but a gunshot pierces his body before it lands. An annoyed groan rubbles from his throat, and he pushes you away from the line of fire. 

Another bullet lands in his chest when he turns to see a man in a robe holding a shaking gun. 

He dodges the next shot, stalking forward to the frozen man, he grabs the gun out of his weak hold and sends him to the floor with a headbutt. 

Tossing the gun aside, he turns to see you no longer in your spot. You couldn’t have made it to the door in that short of time, and your scent was still strong in the room. 

He follows it behind the bar to where he saw you squeezed into a tight corner. 

“Hey, bub” he tries his best to use a soft voice, “we gotta go. Come on”. 

He reaches for you, but you push his hands away. 

“Come on” he says more forcefully. He reaches for your waist and not your arm to avoid hurting you. 

You thrash against him, begging him to let you go. 

He allows it until you reach the front door then he extracts a single claw from his hand that crossed your stomach. 

“Walk” he demands. 

He manoovers himself so he was behind you with a hand on your stomach and his claw pressed into your side. 

You allow him to walk you down the steps and through the crowd, back to his apartment. You were too scared to say anything. Some people gave you a strange look as you passed them crying but no one stopped to help. 

“You’re alright. I ain't going to hurt you”, he promises. 

He would never hurt you. As soon as you had managed to make your way through the crowd, Logan retracts his claw completely, instead placing both his strong hands on your hips to keep you moving forward. 

“Almost there. Atta girl, just keep moving”. He encourages. 

The dim lights of his hotel came into view. The vacancy sign buzzed allowing small flashes of light in an otherwise dark street. 

He could see fine given his heightened ability, but knew that your lack of senses must be adding to your anxiety. 

“Alright, this way”, he takes your wrist into his hand, trusting that you would follow him up the metal stairs. 

Your heel snagged on the step. Without Logan's hold you would have been sent flying forward. 

“Sorry” you gasp, trying to let him know that it was an honest stumble and not a deliberate act on your part. 

“Are you hurt?”, he steps down to your level, throwing your arm over his shoulder while he bends down to take off your shoes, “Let's take these off”.

He holds them in his hand, and your waist in the other and continues to lead you up. 

“Come on, we are almost there. Just down the end”. 

You reach the top of the stairs and he leads you to the end of the corridor. Stopping at the door that peeled with paint while he digs in his pockets for his key. 

He opens the door, quickly pushing you inside and shutting it again. 

“Here sit” he suggests. 

With his hands off you, he turns on the bedside lamp so you could see.

You do take a seat on the bed, and Logan stands in front of you. 

“You’re a mutant?” you finally say. 

“Yeah” he admits with a hard tone. 

“Are you going to kill me?”, you whisper. 

“Christ, no”, he kneels down in front of you so he could be in your eyesight, his hands caged around your legs on the mattress. 

“Y/n, I am one of the good guys”, his own words froze him. His eyes cast down to where your dress has risen dangerously high up your thigh. His finger traces up from your knee to your dress hemline. 

“Not that you are going to believe that after I am done with you” he says more to himself than you. 

“What are you going to do?”, you quake. 

He rises himself enough to place a gentle kiss on your lips. 

“Whatever I want”,  he whispers against your lips. 

He pushes you as gently as he can into the mattress. Using his body weight to cement your place under him. 

“Get off”, you complain the second his lips are off you. 

“I can’t” Logan protests. His lips go to your neck, biting down harshly. He intended to leave a mark. A claim of sorts for the world to see. 

He may have bitten down too harshly, as you push against his face with your hands. 

He can hear your heartbeat as it thumps in your chest. It stills him in the crook of your neck. 

He didn’t want to scare you. 

“I am sorry”, he admits softly into your skin. 

He places a soft kiss on the sore he had just created, and reaches to untie the knot of fabric around your neck. 

Your hand reaches up to catch the fabric as it falls, holding it over your breasts. 

He moves on, hooking his fingers around the elastic of your underwear, and pulling them off onto the floor. 

“It’s alright, just breathe”, he concludes. 

You keep your eyes shut, and your breaths manic. 

In an effort to make you more comfortable, he lifts you up by your armpits and places you in the center of the bed. He changes positions to match yours, straddling you on the bed while he moves the pillows under your head, and by your sides. 

You lay there frozen with your eyes squeezed shut, while he removes his clothes on top of you. 

You feel his attention return when his lips press down on yours, his hand gently on the side of your face. 

“Open your eyes, and look at me”, he commands in a low whisper. 

You are met with his face, and bare shoulders peering over you. 

“There she is”, he grins a beautiful smile as he brushes his thumb along your cheek. 

His lips go to yours again before trailing down to your neck, and chest. 

His hands met your on the fabric of your chest, and he tugs it down, bunching the dress around your hips. 

A kiss is placed at the top of your breast activating your fight. 

You tried to push against him but he was too heavy to even shift. 

“Easy” he tells you, “take it easy. It’s alright”.

He comes back up to your face, and begins to stroke your face with his finger again. 

“Settle down”, he breathes. 

“Logan, please just let me go”, you beg. 

“I tried to,” he admits, “but I've never been much of a quiter”. 

He kneads the flesh of your breast in his hand, and grows darker at the thought of not completing what he wanted to do. 

“Now you’re going to relax and let me take care of you, or I'll tie you to the bed”. 

You don’t move again as Logan trails down your body to slide the bunched fabric of your dress down. 

He nestles between your thighs next, keeping a strong grip as he inserts himself into you. 

He groans as you accept him. Despite your protests you were warm, and wet for him.  

He places his hands on stomach feeling the skin that had been hidden from him for so long. 

“Please keep your hands away from me”, you shudder. You curl into yourself as much as you could, scared that the blades would come out and pierce into you.

He takes his hand off your stomach, per your request. 

In an act to show you he had no intention of hurting you, he releases his claws, and drives them into the mattress either side of you. He feels as they push through the fabric to the bed frame. 

 “I would never hurt you” he promises.

He keeps his weight on his hands as he thrusts into you. Your hand remained on your chest until they sprang out to his shoulder in an attempt to control the pace. 

He slows down until he is at a pace where you no longer push on his shoulder. 

As he continues you find yourself building, so you turn away and bury your head into your pillow. 

You hear as his claw is pulled from the mattress, and feel his tight grip as it latches around your chin. He pulls your face back to his direction, resting his forehead on top of yours. 

You feel his quick breaths on your skin, and breathe them in. 

His eyes were closed, but one hand now held your face in place, and the other held your hip down. 

You gasp when you feel yourself cuming around him.  A low growl makes its way to your ear but you were more focused on Logan fucking you through your orgasm. 

Your nails become claws when he doesn’t stop. You make weak sounds, but no words as he thrusts into you. 

“You can take it” he says, somehow knowing what you were trying to say. 

His hold on your chin becomes hurtful as he reaches his end. You yank at his fingers trying to pry them off but your fingers slip from the force you were trying to use and makes no difference to him. 

A loud moan tells you he was done before you felt the warm substance drip from you. 

With a smaller, satisfied groan he opens his eyes to look at you. The same smile appears on his face preceding a deep kiss to your lips. 

He doesn’t remove himself from you but loosens his hand on your chin, and hip. 

You feel his body weight as he rests his head back on your forehead. He was conscious to keep his weight off you, yet the skin he pressed against yours, pinned you to the mattress.

“You alright, princess?” he pants. 

You don’t answer him, and he kisses you in your silence. 

 By the third time you are fucked dumb. You have a glazed look in your eye, and your body is weak against his. He uses you like a toy. Kissing you, and fucking you while you lay there with little energy left. 

His stamina and quick recovery times meant that once was never enough to satisfy him. You would lay quietly next to him for only a few minutes before he was ready to go again. 

You whine as he approaches you again, not ready for yet another round.

He lays on top of you, gently caging your head between his arms as he whispers “I know, I know”. 

He did know. When you began to cry from overstimulation, he felt terrible but couldn’t bring himself to stop. He wasn’t anywhere near his peak, and your pussy clenched so nicely around him.

“Don’t cry”, he begs, “sh, don’t cry”. 

You wouldn’t listen. He wasn’t sure if you could even hear him in your state, but he continued to talk anyway. 

“Sh, its alright. Feel good there?”, he asks as your hips buck against him. 

“Feels good there, hey baby”, he targets the spot that makes your hips buck, and you latch on to his strong shoulders with your nails. 

“Pretty girl like you should always feel good. Can I be the one to always make you feel good?”.

No more fresh tears sprang from your eyes, but the path was still wet, and a large tear balanced on the outer corner of your eye. 

He moves his hands closer, using his thumbs to brush off the water. 

“No more crying, hey bub”.

You turn your head away from him, resting your forehead on his bicep. He turns his attention to applying the right amount of force between your legs. 

He gives you a bigger rest time between the next one. Despite, him roaring to go again. 

You lay pressed against his side, half-asleep. He slung his arm over the top of your pillow, waiting for you to recover. 

Your lipstick was worn off from his ferocious kissing, and your hair had come undone around you. 

You open your eyes to look up at him, and he takes it as a sign that he could continue. 

He takes your chin into his hand to keep it still as he slides down in the bed next to you. 

“No. That’s enough”, you demand, trying to wiggle your head from his hold. 

“Just one more” he promises, “I just need one more”. 

He kisses you as he hooks your leg over his hip. Reaching back to guide himself into your swollen pussy. You fit together like a jigsaw piece, another reason why all of this was meant to be. 

He liked the intimacy of the position, pushing against your lower back to force you closer. He holds his hand there as he thrusts into you, keeping you from wiggling away. 

You rest your head on his chest, and arm over his neck taking what he gives you. 

His pace is gentler than it had been all night. Slow, controlled thrusts that rocked your body rather than shook it. 

His arm under your head kept you level with the large man, but also meant that every moan, and whimper went straight into his ear. 

It was encouraging for him to hear you reluctantly enjoying yourself.  He only wanted to bring you pleasure never pain. 

You groan softly as you cum again, and it triggers his own orgasm. 

When he was done with you for the final time, you collapse into the mattress without Logan's body scaffolding yours. 

He brushes the hair that had fallen over your face away with his large palm, and lays flat on the bed. 

“Come here” he requested, opening his arms for you. 

With eyes closed you shuffle to his chest where he pulls you just over his heart. You fall asleep almost instantly, but Logan remains awake gently stroking your hair. 

He had been called an animal all his life, but tonight was the only time he truly felt like it. 

—-------------------

You woke the next morning to the sound of his voice, 

“Hey bub, hey, come on, we have to get going”. 

You feel him smooth his palm over the side of your face, and you knock it away. It felt like knocking your hand against an immovable metal pole. 

Last night ruined you. You weren’t sure you could rise from the bed if you wanted to. 

“I am not going anywhere with you”, you state. 

He had taken what he wanted. The deal now was to leave you in peace. 

The next sound of his claws unsheathing and digging themselves into the mattress next to you made your eyes sprung open in shock. 

“Get up, now”, he demands. He was eager to get home and get you settled in. 

Xavier would get involved if Logan was absent for too long. A week here and there was nothing unusual but Xavier knew Logan too well to ignore any strange behavior. 

He passes you your dress as you rise, and you quickly place it on, looking for your panties next. Watching you put them back on made Logan want to take them back off but the plane was departing soon. 

The short, black dress was definitely more night time appropriate. You stand trying to cover your chest with your folded arms. 

He takes off his jacket, passing it to you as he speaks. 

“How far is your place from the bathhouse?” he asks. 

“Not far, a block”, you answer. You take the jacket off him and zip it up over your dress. 

It smelt of him, and his cigars. 

“Come on”. He says, taking your arm and tugging you behind him as he left the apartment. 

“I can get there myself”, you fought. 

“Kid, we haven’t got time”. He moves his grip to a harsher one on your upper arm, and half carries you in the direction he wanted you to go in.

Your heels click behind him down the steps. He detours to drop his room key back to reception before continuing on the path back to your work.

He is silent as he backtracks to the bathhouse. The street is much busier during the day. People stare as you pass them looking. 

When the Bathhouse comes into clearing he can feel you pull against him trying to get him to stop. 

He halts of his own accord, peering down at you in the middle of a busy street.

“I need to get my keys and phone from work”.

“I can get through the door. Don’t worry about that”, he shakes you slightly, getting impatient with the lack of direction,  “Which way?”

You point to the left, and take the led back to your house.

The streets thin as you weave your way out of the center of the city, and into the residential block. Everything was old and run down. 

Broken, smashed cars lined the streets, graffiti was sprayed on every covering, people kept to themselves not even looking out the window as you passed. 

He follows you until you stop at a run down apartment block. 

“This is it”, you state. 

“Upstairs”, he orders but you don’t move. 

“Let me go or I'll scream”, you threaten. 

“And I’ll kill anyone that comes. Upstairs”.

 You were yet to learn that Logan had reservations about killing needlessly, especially non-mutants, so you admit defeat and wander down three apartment blocks to your actual home.

The bar was low, but your apartment block was the nicest in the street. No graffiti or broken windows. A nice, clean brick that reached three stories and opened to a nice fourier. 

There was no elevator but there was only one flight of stairs up to your apartment. 

You show him your door labeled 2A, telling him there was no way to get it open unless he took you back to the bathhouse. 

He ignores you, placing his hand on the knob and giving it a gentle push that breaks the lock. 

Your heart rate picks up faster, which worries Logan as it was already quite high. 

He lets go of your arm to allow you to go in first, and shuts the door behind him. 

It was a one bedroom apartment, with a small open kitchen that opened to a small space that had to be chosen to be a living room or a dining area. 

You had chosen a living room with a green couch sat in front of a small rectangular table. 

“You can take what you want. I have some jewelry in the food cupboard”, you state. 

“This isn’t a hold-up”, he grumbles, “Come here”.

He goes to your bedroom, listening to your feet following him. 

He goes to your closet to see your luggage bag stored up top. He takes it down, and begins throwing items into it. 

‘What are you doing?”, you begin to panic seeing him stuff your suitcase with your clothes. 

“Do you have a passport?”

“Why?”

The plane was departing within the hour. He had no time to answer obvious questions. 

“Do you have one?”. He reiterates. 

“No”. Your heart skips a beat as you lie. 

“Go get it”, he demands. 

“I don’t want to”, your voice was quiet and strained. 

He knew he should have taken a softer approach. To be uprooted overnight would be a hard thing for anybody.

Yet still, his claws dig through at your resistance. 

“Go get it”, he said in a lower tone. 

His blades work to persuade you, and you move quickly to your bedside table to retrieve it. 

He zips up your suitcase, holding out his hand for your passport. You pass it to him, taking a step back once it's in his hand. 

Checking it’s valid, he puts it in his back pocket alone with his. 

“Logan, I can keep a secret” you say, “I would never tell anyone about you”. 

“That’s nice, bub. Go change”, he nods to the wardrobe behind him which you take a pair of jeans, and a singlet from. 

You were too quick to the bathroom, so he stops you before you enter. 

“Ah” he tuts. 

He takes a look inside first to check for windows. There was only a small one with a security screen so he allowed you to pass and shut the door on him. 

After a frustrating phone call in which he was misunderstood twice, he manages to order a taxi to the airport, and knocks on the door to let you know it was on its way. 

You open the door a different person. Your makeup was all wiped off, and your hair was pulled back into a ponytail. 

The confident seductive was replaced with this fragile girl-next-door type. He didn’t think it was possible to love you anymore. 

You hand out his jacket to him which he takes but opens it to wrap around your shoulders. 

“Keep it. It looks good on you”.

“Logan-” you begin but he cuts you off. 

“Sh” he dismisses taking your head into his hands, “it’s alright. I know”. 

“But-” you try. 

He sh’s you again, “Don’t think. Just come with me”, he begs. 

Moving his hands from your head to your wrist he takes you back outside the bathroom to where your bag lay waiting by the door. 

You don’t know why but you follow his direction to put your sandals on your feet, and follow him down to the street and into a taxi. 

Your head reels as the car drives. The taxi is silent, only the sound from the radio plays. Logan holds onto your thigh while he looks out of the window. 

You stare at his hands, wondering where the blades went when they were retracted. 

You think about telling the driver but one man was no match for Logan. 

The man pulls into the drop off station, and gets out to get your luggage. 

Logan turns to you in the car, demanding your attention from his eyes alone. 

“Are you going to save us both some time and be a good girl, or do we need to go over what will happen if you draw attention?”. 

You shake your head ‘no’. 

“Good girl, let’s go”. 

Logan goes out the same door you do, instantly taking your hand in his in the busy station. 

He pays the man, and takes your suitcase for you. 

“Where are we going?”, you request. 

Logan joins the back of the line for check-in’s

“New York”, he gives. 

“What's in New york?” you ask him. 

“Home”.  

You flex your hands in his, trying to get it free.

“I am going home with you?”, you implore. 

He nods, not looking at you.

“You said you were one of the good guys”, you remind him. 

“I told you, I am a good guy that does bad things”. 

His fingers clench around yours in a painful hold. Your eyes fill up with fresh tears. You knew Logan wouldn’t hurt you, but he was a stranger, a mutant, who had taken you from your home, and planned to place you in his. 

“Don’t cry. Not here”, he demands. 

He moves his body to shield you from prying eyes, as you try your best to conceal your panic. 

A gentle hand rubs your back as you move up in line. 

The girl at the counter notices your red eyes, and asks if you are okay.

“She’s a nervous flyer” he lies. 

The woman ignores him, asking you the question again. 

The hand you held had blades that came out on command so you nod your head in agreement. 

“I’ll be fine once we are up in the air” you say. 

The woman hands Logan the tickets, and you make your way over to the security screening. 

Logan seemed amazed you had lied for him. 

He kisses your head, thanking you for not causing a scene. 

He lets you go easy when you reach the security point, letting you walk through the metal detector. 

You eye the security and their guns, but you watched Logan get shot at point blank. Would their guns even dint him?

The metal detector beeps when Logan walks through. For a second, you think that you will find out if their guns work on him when a security officer closes in. 

“Easy there, big guy”, Logan takes a slip of paper out of his pocket to show the man, “I have a metal hip”. 

The man takes the pass over to his supervisor.  You wonder if they know something is wrong as they talk, but the manger looks relaxed, and with a wave of his hand the pass is given back to Logan, and you get the go ahead. 

Logan slings his arm over your shoulder past the security who don’t take a second glance.

“You have metal in your hands?” you whisper the question to him. 

“I have adamantium in my entire body” he explains, “It’s a type of metal”. 

You feel amazed at the news. A whole body of metal reinforcing him to be the most dangerous man you had ever met. 

The most dangerous man you had ever met took you over to a cafe stand. Buying you, and himself a roll and coffee. 

You never would have guessed the man you met at the bathhouse harbored such a secret. How many other clients were mutants too, or was he the only one. 

“It’s gettin’ cold”, he says noticing you staring at him. 

You accept his gift, starving after last night. 

The rest of the time until boarding was silent. Only then did the sense of dread kick back in. 

“Please”, you beg. 

“I am sorry. Get on the plane”. His voice was soft, but you could hear no sound of true sympathy from it. 

He keeps you in front of him as the attendant checks the tickets, and you find your seats. 

You were the only two on your row, right at the back of the plane. 

Logan settles into the seat beside you, doing up his seatbelt, and checking yours. 

The cabin crew begin their safety speech. Your eyes were trained out the window, not looking at them. You hoped the plane crashed. 

When the plane began moving at a fast pace, Logan checked your seatbelt again, pulling on it to make sure it was tight across your lap. 

You look at him. He was tense again, and shut his eyes when the plane took off. 

When it stabilized he let out a breath of air, and opened his eyes, falling back into his seat. 

“Afraid of flying?” you ask surprised. 

“If god wanted us to fly, we’d have wings”, he quips. 

“And if god wanted us to have blades in our hands, we would”. 

Logan's hands ball into fists. He was a freak in your eyes.

“One day I’ll explain what happened to me”, he promises. 

“What else can you do? You’re strong, hard, body full of metal”, you start, “and that man. He shot you”. 

“Baby, I can do alot of things”, he dismisses. 

“Like what?” you push. 

“Maybe now is not the time to be discussing this”. He says looking around at other passengers. Most of whom already had their earphones on. 

“What do you want with me?”, you implore. 

“Now’s really not the time to be discussing that” He grits.

“One of the good guys” you remind him. 

“I'll settle for being an okay guy. Stop talking” he growls. 

You turn back to the window away from him the rest of the flight. 

You watch as the clouds below you turn orange, and then black. Logan passes you a food tray from the stewardess and you eat it in silence. 

It must have looked odd to the stewardess. Neither you or Logan played with the screen in front of you. Just sat there with grim expressions on your faces. 

 Lights turn off as the cabin goes to sleep. You were nowhere near ready with the adrenaline pumping through your body. 

Logan takes his blanket from the wrapper and lays it over your shoulder. 

“You should sleep,” he says. 

“Is that how it's going to be from now on? You telling me what to do” , you snap. 

Logan turns away from you, facing to the front. 

“It was just a suggestion”. 

You run your hands over your face wondering what sort of keeper he was going to be. 

“I need to pee” you say. 

He unbuckles his seatbelt to get up out of your way but you couldn’t wait for him. You’re fighting to get past him as he tries to stand. 

He grabs your waist to maneuver you but the touch sends rage through your body. 

You scream in his face. A loud ear piercing scream that turned everyone’s attention on you. 

Logan quickly let go, slumping back into his seat under the stare of other awake passengers. 

You rush to the bathroom, locking the door behind you. 

The tight space allows you to breathe. 

Washing your face with cold water, you decide it is time to return to your seat. 

Logan waits for the sound of a turning lock before he jumps from his seat to catch you as you exited and push you back inside. 

He is quick to lock the door behind him. 

Three, quick, firm smacks are placed on your bottom as he pushes you against the sink. 

It stings when he sits you on the counter, and stands between your legs.

“Are you crazy, bub? Acting like that”, he scolds. 

You try to move him out between your legs, but he pushes your knee down as you move your leg. 

“Don’t you ever misbehave like that again”, he warns. 

“Or what?”. He had already taken everything from you, and you trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t really hurt you. 

His angry stare didn’t scare you, but when his hands reached for the button of your jeans your heart rate spiked. 

“I gotta fuck the stupid out of you?” he spat. 

“Get off” you demand. 

You scream in his face again when his hand continues to unhook the button. 

He is quick to quieten you, clamping a hand over your mouth. Your head hits the mirror from the force.

He secures your hands behind your back with a single hand when you begin to hit him. It caused you more pain than him, it felt as if you were hitting against a brick wall.

The force knocks out his necklace that he had never worn before. A rectangular pendant dangles as he moves. You could see it was inscribed but the writing was too small to make out. 

“Is that how it’s going to be from now on? Me telling you what to do. Yeah. I think fucking so”, he grunts. 

“Now don’t scream” he orders. 

The hand over your mouth is removed as he uses it to tug down your jeans, and then his own. 

You know you should scream, make some sort of noise that would alert the others, but desire pooled with him between your legs. 

Your emotions were too complicated to unpack so you allowed him to take your pants off your legs. 

He throws them to the floor, but keeps your panties in his hands. 

You see why when he brings them to your lips, and forces them in your mouth. He clamps his hand back over to keep you from spitting them out. 

He sighs as he enters you. 

“You know, you don’t need to act stupid to get my attention”, he grunts as he rocks into you. 

Your toes curl feeling him inside of you. He fit so completely that you were building from just clenching around him. 

“Don’t cum. I’ll tell you when”, he says. 

You muffle a protest against his hand, but it was met with no sympathy. 

“Don’t you fucking cum or I’ll put you over my knee for ten more”. 

Your ass still stung from the three he gave you so you delayed yourself the best you could. 

He picks up his pace, slamming into you quickly, and hard. You hear his chain clink as he moves.

“Okay now”, he directs. 

Your thighs shake as you clench around him. 

His hand drops to allow you to regain your breath, bringing your pants from your mouth as he did. 

He pants in unison with you, only he is quicker to regain his resolve. Your head was still reeling while he re-buttons his jeans. 

He shakes his head as if he was trying to snap out of the trance he was in. 

It seemed to have worked as he was gentle when he slid your underpants back on. 

It was as if two people lived inside of him. One was sweet, and gentle, the other impulsive, and violent. 

You weren’t sure which one turned you on the way it did. 

He looks at you with those remorseful eyes. You should hate him but yourself wanting to comfort him. You knock it down to Stockholm and square your shoulders against his. 

“Let me take a look at you”. He turns your face in his hand and smooths back your hair from your face with his other hand. 

He checks to make sure you are okay. You didn’t look to be crying or in any pain. 

“You right, Bub? You going to be good for me from now on?”, he asks.

You take the necklace out of his shirt. He doesn’t move to stop you, letting you read his dog tags. 

‘LOGAN’ in capital letters and Howlett in smaller letters below. A series of numbers trace the bottom. 

You flip it, feeling the indents on the other side, and run your finger over the name. 

“Wolverine” you read, “like the animal?”.

He takes his tags from your hand and tucks them back under his shirt. 

Silence.

It was a scary thing. To have lived without it for so long, it was a foreign feeling to the former duke. Now taking on the role of logic as the embodiment of Syllogism, he has to take on a completely different meaning in life. With that came his fears of never being able to find joy in his work again. Since there was more structure, his creative visions were not as vast as he wished they could be because of his stricter set mind.

Then there was the original logic now taking on the role of anxiety by being the aspect of Dread. While Logan was very helpful in helping Remus navigate certain aspects of his new role as Thomas' intellect, it was also a lot harder for him to verbalize his emotions in a straightforward way. The anxiousness he felt could range from subtle to agony in mere moments and it caused a lot of butting heads with Remus.

But now the two were in bed together. Remus stared up at the ceiling where the reminants of Logan were still very present in the room. The glow-in-the-dark paint mimiced the real constellations in outer space. Remus started to hum a tune very similar to his theme. He felt the back of Logan pressed against his arm as he slumped down further on his back.

The quiet of Remus' mind had been one of his biggest hurdles but with Logan sleeping peacefully next to him, what was he truly to fear?

"Remus. You should've been asleep by now."

Remus accidentally bit his tongue once he realized that Logan had never fell asleep at all. Remus dragged a hand down his face.

"You were never asleep, were you?"

Logan chuckled into the pillows and turned over on his other side to look at Remus' face.

"No. And judging from the bleaching effect on your hair, it must not be a good reason why you are still awake."

Remus let out a shaky sigh.

"I hate this sometimes, Lo. My brain… it's too quiet. Nothing happens unless I make it. My thoughts rarely come freely to me anymore and I…"

Remus' voice drifted off. He didn't know how to explain it more than just his brain is quiet. Which wasn't as uncommon as Remus made it seem when he was the figment of Dark Creativity but there was some level of consistency and familiarity with his mind. The times where his thoughts would go from blarring foghorns to bubbling simmering would be his only time of having mental peace. And he cherished those moments. But now? It was like a permenant change. And because of his mind never giving him random thoughts or ideas, he felt that there was no point in trying to have fun with his projects because why make something fun out of something meant to be useful?

"… do you know how many teleport pads I need to finish?" "5 more. And you can focus on that tomorrow."

Logan gripped onto Remus' wrist as Remus tried to sit up. He pecked Remus on the temple, locking his fingers between Remus'.

"Both of our minds are overwhelmed and yet… we somehow still understand each other very well. It's idiotic, isn't it?"

Remus barked out a humorless chuckle.

"In some ways… yes."

Then he turned his attention back to the owl figment.

"But you know what?"

Remus let out a shaky sigh.

"No one else makes silence feel this safe."

Remus looked over Logan's arm to stare into his partner's dark blue eyes.

"Not the way you do."

Logan paused for a brief moment before letting himself smile, burying his face in Remus' chest.

"Goodnight, Remus." "'Night, Logan."

~~~

Here the 07734 that everybody pointed out was related to the orange side has dark blue as its shadow.

And if the Orange Side is Wrath or something similar, it does make sense for that number to be related to him, given that Thomas is in a fighting simulator:

Also, if the Orange Side isn't Logan then it stands to reason that Remus and Janus would know him, given how they're all dark sides.

But if that's the case, then why are both Janus and Remus trying to egg Logan on? If the Orange Side manifests when intense anger happens, why not provoke everyone? And why would Remus and Janus try to cause people to get angry? Can't the Orange Side do it himself?

Every side has a series of abilities or areas, if the Orange Side is separate from Logan, Remus wouldn't need to be pissing him off on purpose, the orange side could easily use his power on Logan without any help.

And, let's not forget that Janus is concerned about Thomas' mental health. It wouldn't make sense for him to not let the Orange Side to the surface but still want it to affect Logan, as he's been trying to do.

During many of the videos, Janus has specifically targeted Logan, making him feel even more ignored. He made him shut up in Can Lying be Good?, he tried to avoid him in SVS, sending him to the bench once he appeared, in SVSR he got rid of him and then pretended to be him...

If they're both trying to help the Orange Side or have some kind of scheme going on, why wouldn't they just let the Orange Side go and mess with Logan instead of pissing him off?

If the Orange Side is Wrath, Logan would already be the most vulnerable to him, given that he has a really short temper. So it wouldn't be necessary for Remus and Janus to do anything, the Orange Side would have an easy time getting to him.

Unless they're both trying to get Logan on their side making him a Dark Side. Which would actually make a lot of sense.

Janus and Remus are the most vulnerable to Logan. He can use his abilities (reasoning) to show that the way they are presenting reality is incorrect. Making both Janus and Remus' jobs way harder.

If Logan turns into a Dark Side, then he could work with them and be less of a problem.

I don't think this is even out of character for them.

Logan has been feeling like crap lately. He's been getting ignored for forever. And Janus "I'm going to let Remus lose to prove a point and because I'm done with all of you" Sanders, sounds like the kind of person who would be in favour of letting things get slightly out of hand to prove a point. So I don't think it would be against his purpose to want Logan to "go orange". It would certainly allow Logan to make himself be heard, which might be good for Thomas, and would get Logan off his throat.

For Remus, though, when Logan screamed "Stop ignoring me" he was like "you're finally speaking my language". It doesn't look like he'd hate for Logan to be on his side.

And I don't mean to make Janus and Remus seem bad or anything, I think, from their point of view, this is for the best.

All of that being said, Logan may turn into the Orange Side, maybe the Orange Side is not Logan.

There are very good theories that completely disagree with what I've just said, and I think they're just as good. So no hate to the people against the Orange!Logan theory, it's super valid not to believe it.